


Sparks

by katriona_subasa



Series: Testaments of Fodlan [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Oneshot collection, Prequel, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2020-10-11 21:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20553155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katriona_subasa/pseuds/katriona_subasa
Summary: Collection of one shots detailing events in the past of Byleth and Azrael Eisner. Multiple POVs (neither of which are Byleth or Azrael). Ties into Testament of Dawn (a 3H novelization)





	1. Twins

Twins

* * *

His twins are strange. That's not a surprising statement. No, not at all. After all, they're _his_ twins. He'd known as soon as Fiona told him she was pregnant that they'd be odd. Just because of his past, and the blood that ran through his veins. He'd actually been afraid of being a father because of that, along with the more 'common' fears new fathers experienced. Alois had eagerly (and loudly) reassured him about those common fears, often alongside rambles of whatever future plan his mind had latched onto. But no one, not even Rhea, could quite allay that fear that being fathered by him would curse the children. And even now, he's half-certain that it bore _some_ contribution to how strange his twins were. Not all, though. No, not all.

"The hell happened?" he asks as he kneels in front of Byleth. Byleth Mikayla Eisner… Fiona had insisted on it for a daughter and Goddess, Byleth looked so much like her that it's almost eerie. But it's easy to tell the difference, and not just because Fiona is dead. "You're bloody and bruised…"

"I fell," Byleth answers, not quite looking at him. Anyone watching would assume that she felt nothing. After all, when covered in scrapes and cuts and bruises, most children would be hysterical. Big fat tears rolling down chubby cheeks, wailing and screaming. But not Byleth. Byleth had never cried, not even as a baby. Never cried, never laughed… that had been the first hint to him that _something_ had been done to her, to his precious daughter. The second had been her heartbeat, how abnormally slow it was. Too slow to sustain life, and yet, here she was. "Just a fall, Papa."

"Quite the fall." And he knows it's a lie. Both of his twins are almost unnaturally graceful, especially given they were four years old. And he knows what always happens when Byleth leaves whatever inn they stayed in. "Best make sure you don't fall again, huh?" He scoops her up easily, tucking her under his chin. Her hands (so small) tremble as they grip his shirt, one of the 'little signs' that showed how much she hurt. She had many, but only those who knew her could see them. "Come on, kiddo. Let's get you fixed-"

"Excuse me!" The sharp voice tells him exactly what he's going to see even before he turns around, but he still sighs at the sight of one of the village women glaring at him while holding Azrael by the arm. "You need to keep your brat under control!" she snaps, snarling now. He looks back impassively, because if she thought she could intimidate him… well, he'd seen much scarier. Killed much scarier. "Beating up my boy and-!"

"So, when your boy beats up my twin sister, it's fine, but when _I_ beat him up, it's wrong?" Azrael asks, expression droll and voice apathetic. Neither are normal for a child, but they're normal for Azrael. "I wonder if that attitude is why your husband prefers kissing the maids over you." Such statements are also normal for his son. Azrael Kimaris Eisner… again, Fiona's decision, but unlike Byleth, Azrael inherited little of her kind temperament. Instead, his son is blunt, uncaring of the harm his words may cause… because he was uncaring about everything save his family.

"You…!" The woman's free hand comes up, no doubt to hit Azrael, but Azrael pulls free from her grip easily and dances away to hide behind him. "When are you leaving with your unnatural children, mercenary?!"

"Contract is done in the morning," he answers calmly, reaching down to rest a hand on Azrael's head. He tugs at the strands (the same teal as Byleth's, because the two shared the same coloring as Fiona) in gentle reprimand, and Azrael ducks his head, finally feeling ashamed for his behavior. "So, whenever I get paid tomorrow."

"Good!" she spits, turning on her heel and fleeing. As she does, some of the others in the village watch, some with mocking laughter and others with pity. Her husband's infidelity had long been an open secret in a small place like this, but to hear it so bluntly...

He simply sighs at her departure and leads Azrael into the inn, still carrying Byleth, who had listened quietly during the entire exchange. She doesn't react at all until they're in their room and he's set her down in a chair to go fetch his first aid kit. Then she reaches over and prods Azrael's cheek, her mouth forming the tiniest frown. No words are exchanged between the two. It's not uncommon. The two are able to read each other with such ease that he worries about when they're older… will they know how to be two different people? Will they constantly be in each other's heads? He's not sure, but he knows he'll need to do something to try and mitigate the possibility. They're his children, after all. He's not sure how good of a job he's doing, especially as a mercenary on the road, but… well, he just can't shake the idea that its safer _here_ than it was at the monastery. That was why he set the fire and…

"Byleth, what brought you outside in the first place?" he asks, after bandaging Byleth up. He's careful to not sound accusatory. Honestly, he hates that Byleth stays inside so much when they're in towns, but he knows why. No matter where they were, the children would bully her for being a 'demon' or a 'doll', just because they couldn't read her. And then Azrael would beat them half-to-death because of the pain he'd sense from Byleth and… it's a mess, really. "Did you need something?"

"Um… well…" Byleth begins, fidgeting with her hands. Her expression is almost smooth, but there's the slight crinkling by her eyes that hints to her excitement. "Wait here!" She dashes to the back closet, nearly falling. Azrael catches her before she does, though, and she reaches inside to pull out… a flower crown of white roses. "For you!" She rushes back and presents it to him, and only now does he remember that it's the Garland Moon. "I was… watching the village girls make their own." Because both Byleth and Azrael could copy movements with ease. It helped them learn quickly. "Um… so..."

"I see…" He cradles the garland in his hands, feeling a little choked up. Oh, how the recruits would laugh at him getting emotional over such a thing. But it's little things like this that tell him that he's not reading Byleth wrong. That she does love him, and she, at least, thinks he's doing an okay job. "Hmm…" He sets it on his hand, to the bright laughter of Azrael and the softened expression of Byleth. "Aha, perfect fit!"

"It is!" She reaches up to him and he easily picks her up for a hug. Though he has to quickly sit down to not fall because Azrael, still laughing brightly, jumps on him too. "Next year, I'll make an even better one, Papa."

"The place where we got the flowers was super pretty, too!" Azrael chimes in, sitting on his lap and looking up with adoring and glittering eyes. His smile is bright, warm, and real. It looks like Fiona's. "There were these super shiny fish in the water and-!"

And Azrael is off, describing everything about the area in so much detail that a scout would be envious. Byleth quietly adds in her own thoughts and he listens closely, taking little descriptions to weave into a story for them, because both of them loved stories and they weren't really old enough for the mercenary tales he had grown up with.

Outside the inn, he knows people were gossiping about them again. About the widower mercenary who fought like 'a god of war', and his two strange children: the demon girl who 'showed no emotions' and the monstrous boy who 'thought as much about hurting as he did about breathing'. But he doesn't care. Because he has his twins, and both are happy. For him, that's enough.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: So, what's this? Well, it's basically where I have some fun and write out some scenes while plotting the three houses novelization that I'll (eventually) be doing. Not all of them will be Jeralt-centric (he's the narrator if it wasn't obvious), though he'll probably show up the most, given what we know in canon. There likely won't be anything too spoilerly or anything, but I can't guarantee anything either? then again, that's the case with almost all my stories...
> 
> Anyway, meet Azrael and Byleth. Byleth will be the POV char, while Azrael is around because of some ideas I had. Nope, not explaining more than that because spoilers. Their mother is never named in-game, so I chose 'Fiona' on a whim. As for Azrael, it's the name of 'the angel of death' in Islam and some Jewish traditions from my understanding. Kimaris is the name of a demon from the Ars Goetia (much like Byleth), while Mikayla is a feminine form of 'Michael' (the name of an archangel in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam… which I imagine most people know because the motif is quite popular!).
> 
> And yes, in-game, Byleth is noted to have no heartbeat in game. Surprisingly, considering the setting has dragons and magic and the like, that's beyond my ability to suspend disbelief, so we're going with a VERY SLOW heartbeat instead. 
> 
> Anyway, welcome to these oneshots?


	2. Blood

Blood

* * *

He's not sure who he wants to kill, but he certainly at least feels like strangling someone. Maybe the person who first decided that the children of mercenaries were 'up for hire' when there's a battle? Maybe himself, for teaching his twins how to fight in the first place and planting the idea in strangers' heads? Maybe the idiots who started this mess of a rebellion in the first place? He's not sure, but trying to figure it out helps him maintain calm as he wades through the aftermath of the brutal battle for his twins, desperately hoping that they are not among the numerous corpses strewn about the once vibrantly green fields. Now, though, the fields are a mess of browns and reds and patches of armor and weapons so broken that it's impossible to determine what they'd been originally, much less their color.

It's the whispers of the survivors that give him the hints he needs in order to find them, but they are not comforting whispers. 'Those two… so young and yet they killed so many…' 'Not human… they absolutely cannot be human…' 'The girl showed no emotions as she cut people down…' 'The boy's eyes were shining brightly, like he found it all so much fun…' 'Not human at all… a demon and an angel, come to play among the mortals…' So many whispers, all of them horrible. All of them hurting his heart because these are his _children_ they're talking about. Children, barely ten years old. He had taught them to fight to protect themselves, not for anything like this. He himself might've been a child mercenary, but he hadn't wanted his own to endure the weight of battle. Not unless they chose, after long discussions and longer thought.

But following the whispers, he finds them away from everyone, near a river that once flowed clear. Now it was as brown and red as the fields it cut through. Byleth is knee-deep in the water, scrubbing her skin raw… no, past raw. She's dug so much into her skin that's she's broken it, her own blood trickling into the water as she continues to scrub. Azrael watches from the shore, drenched still in so much blood that a puddle has formed at his feet, and it is Azrael who notices him first.

"Father!" Azrael calls, waving. The dark crimson that plasters his hair to his skull, makes his clothes cling like a second skin, turns his bright smile (so much like Fiona's) into something terrifyingly eerie. Like a corpse displayed as a warning. "You found us!"

"I did," he confirms, hurrying the last couple of steps. Even if it was a bit terrifying, a bit eerie, a bit creepy… Azrael is still his son. He, of all people, couldn't be afraid. If Azrael didn't understand 'right' or 'wrong' as 'normal people' did… well, it's his duty to teach him, or at least give him the tools needed to make those sorts of choices. "Been worried." He reaches Azrael easily and ruffles his hair, ignoring how the blood caked into the strands squishes between his fingers and coats his palm. Well, sort of ignore. He makes sure to run his bloodied hand through the water before picking up Byleth to keep her from digging further into her skin. "Hey, kiddo… the blood's gone."

"I know," she whispers dully. His heart breaks because even if her voice is normally even, her expression normally stoic… others might not be able to tell the difference, but he can. And he can see that both are _lifeless_, not just even or stoic. "I figured I should bleed a bit, though. Like they did."

"...You can't atone by hurting yourself." He holds Byleth a little tighter, his heart breaking even further now. "That just leads to more harm."

She doesn't respond, and Azrael looks confused, so he just carries Byleth out of the river and holds Azrael's hand as they head to their lodgings. Not to stay. No, he refuses to stay any longer in this town than he has to. He has their things packed in record time, and he gets all their payments even faster. Then he takes his twins to the woods, away from people. Nothing but quiet peace, with the crackling of their campfire and the stars shining above them. Easy to pretend the world has disappeared, and he needs that. Because if he thinks about the world… well, he knows he's just going to get mad.

"Why are people's lives worth so little?" Byleth whispers eventually, long after camp is set up. It's just her and him by the fire, since Azrael is having his third wash tonight in the nearby creek. "I mean… look…" She picks up one of the gold coins that they were paid with and holds it up so that it glints in the light. Like the glint of a weapon, or the 'glint' that lingers in dead, glassy eyes. "There isn't even one coin for each person who died, Father. Or a tenth. Or…" She drops the coin like it burns her before crawling over to him and laying her head in his lap. He automatically strokes her hair, knowing well that this is how she asks for comfort. This, and listening to heartbeats. "Father, why is it that the people who say 'sacrifice the few for the many' are never the ones who make the sacrifice? Why do people spend lives like coin for 'just causes'?"

He has no answer. He wishes he did, even some half-hearted white lie. But he doesn't, especially not when her voice is still so dull and lifeless, her eyes devoid of all light. 'Killed without showing emotions', those idiots claimed… no, she just didn't show her pain like they expected. He wishes she'd cry, though. He could handle tears… maybe. But seeing his little girl like this? It's been a long time since he felt so helpless. All he can do is stroke her hair and do his best to project some air of calm, reassurance, and safety for her. And… and make mental plans of how to better train his twins, because he knows well that they'll be hired as mercenaries again, no matter his wishes or theirs. Which makes him feel more helpless, because he knows Byleth wouldn't want to fight again…

It's only when Byleth falls into an uneasy sleep that Azrael returns, hair now damp from the creek instead of blood. But the blood still lingers, pink blotches staining once clean clothes. "I found it all fascinating," Azrael says without preamble, sitting next to him. "It felt like everything was alive for once. Vibrant and free, as people laid their hearts bare amidst the squallor."

He struggles to think of how to answer. "Squallor is a weird word for a ten year old," he jokes at first, to buy himself time. Azrael grins, perfectly unbothered. "There are those who enjoy a good fight, Azrael. That's not unusual."

"Oh, no, I didn't _enjoy_ it. I couldn't." Azrael shakes his head almost violently, grin shattering for heartbreaking pain. "I mean… you heard, right? About who most of those 'fighters' were? Byleth and I did. It's why she jumped into the river."

"...Yes, I know." Goddess, did he ever know. Civilians. Not knights, not mercenaries, not soldiers, not even militia. But the vanguard of the enemy forces had been civilians. Civilians who had been dragged from their homes and forced to stand on the battlefield with rusted weapons and ill-fitting armor. The survivors wept of how they hadn't even known what was going on, only that if they didn't cooperate, their families would suffer. No choice, and no knowledge of what they had even been used for, much less what many of them had died for. It was the worst sort of battle. "Would you have liked it more if it had been soldiers or knights?"

"I don't know. I haven't fought them yet." Azrael shrugs, but looks at Byleth, who now sleeps fitfully. "Wonder if she's having those weird dreams."

"She'll tell us in the morning." Weird dreams… they were something that haunted Byleth all of her life. Dreams of battles, dreams of festivals, dreams of many things that seemed far too ancient for a little girl to be dreaming of. Strangest of all, though, is the dream of the girl sleeping on the throne, never waking. "Do you want to fight again?"

"Think so. Like I said, I found it fascinating. There are no lies when you flit between life and death." Azrael smiles faintly, but it disappears like a ghost. "Byleth hates it."

"Yes, she does." Byleth is so much like Fiona… a gentle soul with a heart as soft as the flowers she loved. But she definitely inherited his talent for war, just as Azrael did. He had known that, but… "We'll see what happens. In the future." He couldn't make every decision for his children, much as he wanted to protect them. They were older and they had their own minds. "But _if_ you take another job, it's with me."

"The non-human family terrifying everyone until they're too scared to fight!" Azrael laughs, loving the joke. He can only smile slightly in response. "Father?"

"Yes?"

"Love you lots."

"And I love you, Azrael. You and Byleth are my everything." And he wishes there is some way he could turn back time, erase the blood on their hands. But there's no such power in this world. "You should sleep, though."

"Story first."

"Not while Byleth is asleep."

"Blargh." Azrael makes a face, acting like the child he is finally, and then crawls over to shake Byleth. "Wake up! Story time!"

"Azrael!"

Despite his best efforts to stop his son, Azrael did, in fact, wake up Byleth. Thankfully, Byleth is just as eager for a story, and so he spins a tale for his eager twins, making sure to make each character's voice unique and to change his tone to fit the mood. And then he draws their attention to the stars above, telling them stories of all the constellations they could see. And making up a few more as they eagerly ask for more. It's hard, and he grows tired simply from the long day and longer night, but Azrael falls asleep with a smile that's softer and warmer than the one he'd worn while covered in blood and Byleth does not sleep fitfully when she curls up in his lap. So, it's worth it. It's more than worth it.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Probably should've said this before, but these oneshots won't be in any sort of order, especially not chronological order. I'll do my best to give cues as to the twins' ages and who is the 'narrator', but if it's ever confusing, don't hesitate to ask! Anyway, most of Byleth's past in game is very vague, so here's a bit of a story about the first battle the twins fought. And their respective reactions to it.


	3. Dagger

Dagger

* * *

She's quite curious about just who is trying to kill them _this_ time, since whoever it was had certainly spared no expense for the job. There had been at least five ambushes, all filled with just enough mercenaries that the retinue of knights that _had_ been protecting Mitya and her… well, now it's just the two of them, running for the estate in the hopes of sanctuary. Or trying to, at any rate.

Mitya trips next to her, and all thoughts of 'where in the middle of nowhere are we?' switch to 'oh, goddess, is he okay?!'. Mitya might not be hers by blood, but she loves him as if he was. She loves him as much as she loves El and she wishes she knew a little more about fighting so that she could keep him safer. As it is, though…

"I'm sorry, Stepmother…" Mitya mumbles, coughing a bit. Though Mitya normally has enough energy to tire the sun, he is recovering from an illness and goddess, it shows in his flagging stamina. "You should go ahead… I do have a dagger?"

"Hush with such talk," she chides, kneeling down to hug him and to better look him in the eye. He is terribly pale, and she's rather certain she looks no better. Physical exertion had never been her favorite activity. "I will not leave you and that is that." She honestly would rather die than leave him in such a dangerous situation. "Can you keep going?"

"I think so?" He frowns up at her worriedly, and she wishes he'd worry more for himself. But, then again, that just isn't Mitya. He is far too kind for his own good. It's a reason why she wishes Rodrigue hadn't gifted him with a dagger at all; what would killing do to his soft heart? She dreads the answer. "...Ah…" His gaze flicks down the road, catching something, and terror chills her to the bone when she sees just what it is. Another ambush. Another batch of mercenaries, four of them. But right now… right now, it's just her and Mitya… "Stepmother?"

"They're not hurting you." She thinks about standing, but instead just wraps Mitya up in her arms, shielding him as best as she is able as the mercenaries approach slowly. "I won't let them." Of course, she's not quite sure what she can _do_ in this situation. She doubts she can 'seduce', particularly given how ragged she has to look right now, but she can maybe distract them long enough for Mitya to get away? "It's going to be okay." She glances over all the mercenaries, trying to figure out who might be weak enough for her to try something, anything, and finds herself momentarily distracted when she realizes there are two children among the four. Twins from the look of it, no older than Sylvain. One is stoic, as if carved from stone, while the other is yawning, apathetic to the point of boredom. Maybe… "So, when I tell you, you must run, okay?" The frontmost mercenaries are within range now, and their swords glint in the sunlight, like the icicles clinging to the bare tree branches. "Mitya, n-"

She doesn't get the word out. She doesn't, because the mercenary closest to her suddenly lost their head. Literally. And as the body falls, she sees the stoic child behind them, blade dripping crimson for an instance before fire burns the blood away. Beside her, the apathetic one casts a wind spell to blast the other into one of the frozen trees, impaling them on the branches.

"What a bother," the apathetic one yawns, rubbing at their eye sleepily. The mercenary they impaled manages to rip away from the branch, but the apathetic one just shrugs. "Yeah, yeah, to the eternal flames for you or something." The wind rustles and suddenly, they burst forward with far more speed than one would think possible. In the blink of an eye, the mercenary is eviscerated, screaming in pain before a blade cracks their skull open. And the apathetic one, covered in blood… well, somehow, they had ended up crashing into the tree and the gathered snow has all but buried them. "Blech! Cold! Why is it so cold!?"

"It's snow," the other one murmurs, expression completely unchanging. They crouch in front of her and Mitya, and holds out their hand. "Here."

"Ah… thank you…" she murmurs, taking the hand without thinking about it. Before she can question the logistics of a small child helping an adult up, the stoic one has pulled her to her feet. "Um… what was…?"

"We were hired to kill whoever showed up here." The stoic one shrugs, still showing nothing. She had seen statues more emotive, and she half-wonders if either of the two are even human. Faerghus has many stories about the fey. Perhaps these two are some of their number? "Which… we did, I suppose. Just not the ones expected."

"I… I see…" She pulls Mitya to her side, glancing down at him worriedly, but to her surprise, Mitya seems almost entranced by the stoic one. Then again, their movements are oddly graceful. "I thank you for taking liberty with your orders."

"Killing soldiers is _barely_ worth it and there's nothing fascinating about cutting down a mother and child," the apathetic one 'explains', having finally climbed out of the snow and ice. They yawn again and shiver, no doubt because of how damp they are. "Ugh… I hope Dad gets us a job in some place warmer next ti…" They stiffen, apathy disappearing in less than the blink of an eye. The wind surges around them… "Behind!"

She whirls, thinking that someone is ambushing them yet again, but 'behind' had referred to 'behind the stoic one', as a beast of all thinks leaps out from the snow. But the stoic one is quicker and has a dagger in its chest before rolling mostly out of the way. Bright blood drips down their arm, but the beast is dead. She's in too much shock to try and figure out what kind it is, much less why it tried to attack them. She's in too much shock to really do much of anything, save…

"Here," she whispers, taking the stoic one's blade to cut a strip of cloth from her dress and use it as a bandage. Mitya helps her as best as he can, a little clumsily but keeping pressure on the injury. "My, what a day, huh?" The stoic one simply stares at her for a moment before nodding. "So, are there any more? Mercenaries, I mean."

"There probably are, but we can avoid them," the stoic one replies, studying the makeshift bandage. They look to the apathetic one, who nods. "We'll help you. Who knows when another beastie will show up and Az is right. It's quite cold."

"Ha… not if you're dressed for it." Or had a very warm husband that you couldn't wait to hug again, but she wouldn't say that to children. "Thank you."

The four of them walk in silence, the crunching ice being the only noise. Mitya clings to her side, and she clings to him and tries to keep an eye on everything. The children mercenaries… don't change one bit. One is stoic and the other seems almost bored. She half-wonders if this is just another trap, though she keeps the thought safely tucked away in her head. She doesn't want to speak it aloud and make it true. And she does want to trust these two, if only because they were children. Even if they didn't act like children at all. What child killed without showing any reaction? Actually, what human did?

"Whoa, that looks like a fancy place," the apathetic one observes after a moment. It takes a couple of blinks to realize what they're talking about, but she breathes a sigh of relief when she sees the estate. More importantly, the estate with knights. "Guess that's where you were heading?" The apathetic one looks to her and she nods. "Seems like we're in range of scouts, so we'll drop you off here?"

"Ah, but I should really pay you or something," she protests, feeling all tension melt away. Safe… they are finally safe… goddess, what a long day… "After all…"

"Nah, you didn't hire us or anything. I helped on a whim, and my twin helped because she wanted to." They shrug and skip down the path, away from the estate. The stoic one (twin, so, they're twins) moves to join him, but pauses to look through her pockets. "We need to get to our dad anyway. He's likely cursing up a storm by this point. This isn't exactly what the job description detailed and all."

"But still…" She tries to think of some way to bribe them into at least coming in to get warm, but the stoic girl tugs her sleeve and presses a paper into her hand. "What's this?"

"Oh, good idea!" The apathetic one also hunts through their pockets and produces another piece of paper that they happily give her. "That should help you track down our employer! I'm sure there's other crimes you'll want to get them on."

"I… er… well…" She's at a loss, and the twin mercenaries decide that's the end of the conversation as they turn to leave. At least, until Mitya darts from her side and catches the stoic girl's arm. "Mitya?"

"Here, miss," Mitya says, pulling his dagger off his belt and handing it to the girl. It's a beautiful one, with a black and gold hilt and Faerghus-blue sheathe. "You lost yours, and mercenaries often have to cut their own paths, right?" Mitya smiles warmly and the girl hesitantly nods before clutching it to her chest, ducking her head. "Have a safe trip home? Or do you want to warm up before you leave?" That gets her mind back on track and she takes a breath to add onto the offer...

"Patricia! Dimitri!" But a crushing hug that's as warm as a fire stops that thought, and she half-turns to make it easier for Lambert to kiss her cheek. "Thank the goddess…" he breathes, holding onto her tightly. His hands shake on her arms, and she leans into him to reassure him that she's right here. And to reassure herself that he's right here too. "I'm so sorry… I should've…"

"Whoever is behind the attack must've drained their fortune in the attempt," she replies, knowing well just where this sort of thing could go. If she didn't cut him off now, she'd been listening to apologies for literally hours. "Are you well?"

"I am, now that I know both of you are." He brushes a kiss over her mouth before letting go of her to scoop up Mitya in a hug. One Mitya returns with a smile. "I'm canceling whatever I have to do tomorrow. I'm not going _anywhere_."

"Gustave will get mad." She looks down the path, hoping that the twins are at least within sight, but there's no sign of them. None at all, not even footprints… "Maybe they were fey after all…"

"Hmm?"

"The mercenaries who saved us…" There's no sign of Mitya's dagger either, though. So hopefully, that means the girl kept it. "I'll tell you on the way in. They refused payment, though Mitya _did_ give one of them his dagger, so I suppose that's some sort of reward?"

She wonders if she'll ever see the two again. She half-hopes so. Maybe she'll keep an ear out for rumors about mercenaries from now on. Two like that were bound to make some sort of reputation, right?

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Bit different from the first two in that Jeralt doesn't show at all and the narrator-char isn't him. Like I said, there's really no order or theme or anything (save that the twins play some important role in the oneshot). Where did this one come from? A one-off joke about how Dimitri gives girls daggers that… spun a tad out of control. So, have the 'origin story' for the dagger Byleth wears in her official art?
> 
> 'Mitya' is a nickname for Dimitri (though, an older nickname from my understanding. A more modern nickname would be something like 'Dima'). Yes, I know what the game says with regard to Patricia, but I prefer this, so this is what I'm going with because this is a fanfic.


	4. Mushroom

Mushroom

* * *

Great. Just great. What had started as a 'simple trip' to the border fortress with his parents turned into him having to dodge the pointed smiles and poisoned words from the people, because he's _half_. He's the outsider, the one who doesn't fit in, and though you'd think he'd be used to it by now, he… isn't.. He's just so tired of it all, and had wandered off to find a mushroom he'd read about. One that's toxic, but not _deadly_ or anything. Just gives a person really bad food poisoning, to the point of taking them out for entire days (and make them smell horrible). It had seemed perfect… but he'd done _something_ wrong because now here he is, curled up on his side in the middle of the woods and mountains after vomiting up everything he'd eaten for the past _year_… and he's alone. If he doesn't get eaten by a wild animal, it's only because of the smell…

"Huh. What's this?" Oh, lovely. His day just got so much better. A stranger has arrived, and he knows better than to expect help from a stranger. He's going to get stabbed. Nader is going to kill him, if his mother doesn't do it first. "Wow, didn't think anyone was stupid enough to eat that mushroom, but I suppose life is funny that way." He wishes he had the energy to yell because he hadn't _eaten_ the mushroom at all! "Yeah, yeah, I know." And whoever this person is, they are poking him in the head. "Hey, you dead or do you just wish you were?"

"You're being mean." Wow, there's _two_ people. He's double-in-trouble. "Also, I think he just touched the mushroom with his bare hands." ...Were you not supposed to do that?

"Who handles anything toxic… poisonous… hey, what's the difference again?"

"If you bite it, and you die, it's poisonous. That's what Papa says, at least. Both venoms and poisons are toxins, though." There's a surprisingly gentle hand on his cheek now, but he knows better than to 'trust' gentleness, so he groans before prying his eyes open to at least see his death. Face it head on, like his mother would. And at first, thinks he's face to face with the most realistic statue he's ever seen. Then he realizes that it's a person, but there's something… he can't read them. He's honed the ability, had to, and he once had been proud of the ability, but whoever this is, he can't read them. He can't even read that they're holding back thoughts and emotions; it's like they're not there at all. "Ah, you're conscious. That's good."

"Wow, he is?" Then he thinks he's seeing double, before realizing that these have to be siblings or something. "Oh. Huh. Pretty eyes. Remind me of those jade stones. Wonder if I can pluck them." He wishes he hadn't heard that.

"He doesn't know you're joking. Stop scaring him." The first one (soft features makes him think that one is a girl, along with her clothes) crouches down and easily picks him up. "We should get him inside."

"He's going to throw up on you." The other one (soft features, but sharper than the other one's, and the cut of the clothing makes him think 'boy') shrugs and leads the way down the path to… wherever they are going. "Well, he'll keep things interesting while Dad's helping that village by the Locket." It's only then that he realizes that the clothing the two are wearing isn't Almyran at all, and his nausea-addled mind tries to figure out just when, exactly, he crossed the border into Fodlan. Doesn't quite work, because he focuses more on _not_ vomiting on the girl carrying him, but a valiant attempt nonetheless. Still, this is very much not how he ever imagined visiting his mother's homeland.

He… also hadn't expected to be tucked into a surprisingly comfortable bed, with a small bit of ginger to suck on as the stoic one wipes his face with a pleasingly cool and damp cloth. The other one just watches, sitting in a chair with one knee drawn to his chest and an arm resting on his leg, eyeing him the same way one might look over an animal to decide if they are a worthy pet or not. He's honestly not sure if it's any better than the one who takes care of him with gentle touches and a face as blank and empty as a clean piece of paper.

Finally, though, the other boy spoke, "You forgot the badger, didn't you?" The words are followed by a little laugh that sounds genuine enough. "You've got to have the badgers to pick that kind of mushroom. But you have to be careful because the snakes will get you."

"He's sick, so you shouldn't tease him," the girl comments before he can even begin to think of how to answer. Which is good because he's currently trying to remember what a 'badger' even is. They're not in Almyra, or so he thinks. "Really, all you need is a cloth to pick them. The oils it secretes seep easily through skin, but it's not as bad as eating it."

"Yeah, you'll be fine in a couple of hours or so." The other boy sighs gustily, pouting at the girl. Who ignores him. "Must you ruin my fun?"

"He's sick."

"Yeah, yeah." The other boy pokes at his face and he barely manages a feeble attempt to swat the hand away. "Ah, good, you'll probably be better sooner if you can move. And you don't smell that bad. Normally it's like a rotting animal."

The other boy leaves without waiting for some sort of reply (which is good because he kind of fears opening his mouth in case there's something in his stomach still to vomit), and silence falls in his absence because the girl doesn't seem inclined to talk. Instead, she simply wipes down his face and neck, the coolness of the cloth strangely soothing, with a gentleness that really surprises him. The girl has no emotions. You'd think she'd be hard. But she's not, and it's so strange.

"...Why are you helping me?" he finally asks, chewing a bit on the ginger. He's surprised at how much better he's feeling, but the relief from the nausea means he's now suspicious. There has to be some sort of angle here. No one does anything without making sure they benefited first; he knows that well from the court. "Fodlan and Almyra fight a lot, right?" He can admit to not really knowing what Fodlan actually _thinks_ of Almyra, mind. He only knows his mother, after all. But still, this is weird.

"You needed help," the girl answers without the slightest pause. He strains to try and read _something_ from her, but comes up short. "That's all."

"Seriously?" This girl _can't_ be human. No human is like this. Not for strangers.

"Yes?" Finally, there's a slight change in her tone, a quarter-note of what he thinks is confusion. Maybe. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"What if I'd stabbed you or something? Pretended to be sick to get close and rob you?"

"People fear that which is different because they don't understand. But that is no reason to hate or be angry." She continues wiping down his face, and he's kind of wondering why. He's not sweaty or anything. But it's soothing, so he doesn't ask. "It just means that someone needs to have a little courage and reach out their hand. After all, for all that 'normality' is a thing, everyone is unique. But people still can bridge the gaps between them and make a future that's brighter than anything they could've accomplished alone." And now he's wondering how old this girl is because he's not sure he understands. But… he does think of his parents, and his mother in particular. "Papa believes the same thing."

"That doesn't quite answer my question." He frowns a bit, and almost accidentally swallows the ginger. That wouldn't be good… "What if I had planned to hurt you?"

"Wounds heal, and I'm used to injuries." She says the words so matter-of-factly that he can't think of a way to reply. "You're looking better. That's good."

Silence falls again and, somehow, he ends up actually nodding off. He wakes only briefly when the other boy returns with a bowl of broth, and then it's dreamland for him until the morning. But the morning is weird because when he wakes, he's alone. There's no sign of anyone in the room. No signs of the strange siblings at all. Save for a cloth folded neatly on the nearby table, and a note next to it. '_Use this to grab the mushroom safely. Boil it in water while it's in the cloth in order to extract the toxin. You can give the water as tea to better trick your victims.' _

"...That's useful," he murmurs, setting down the note. He looks around again for some sort of clue that someone else had once been here, but there really is nothing. "Maybe they really weren't human?" His father had often told him stories of spirits that wander the world, personifications of life and existence. Maybe that's what the two had been? Though, why would they help him? He'd have to think on that… and on what that girl had said.

For now, though, he had mushrooms to pick and people to make sick. And go get yelled at for disappearing for a night. Fun times!

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Can you guess who's the centric character here? This one was actually inspired by a few artworks I saw on Twitter.


	5. Ribbons

Ribbons

* * *

She wonders how she got into this situation and decides that blaming her siblings is the right course of action. After all, Isolde is the one who suggested that they do a 'sibling bonding experience' by hiking to the supposedly haunted ruins of the old castle, destroyed at some point during the tragic war with Nemesis. Klaus, ever the protective one since he's the eldest of all eleven of them, had decided that 'the youngest' of them shouldn't go. And while that had made some sense (particularly sweet Liesl, who is the absolute youngest), she had insisted on accompanying her older siblings. After all, she isn't a _baby_! And she's been doing well in her weapon-training (_and_ she's divinely blessed by the Goddess, the only one besides Klaus to bear a Crest). So, she had thought she deserved to go and after hours of arguing (and multiple bribes via cakes), she had been victorious!

And it had been so much fun! Though she's certain Hubert will be upset that she had snuck out later, she can't help but remember the gleeful grins on her siblings faces as they dressed in some servants' garb and wrapped themselves up in cloaks to slip out into the dark of night. The hike through the woods had been fun as well, especially because of the bright stars above. Alena, who loves astronomy, had whispered the legends of the constellations, which had prompted history lessons from Siegmar, and _those_ had led to various stories and gossip from Kathrin (whose quiet air led to many forgetting themselves in her presence). It really had been so much fun, and even _if_ they didn't see a ghost at the ruins, she had known that all of them wouldn't regret the excursion one bit. Plus… well, the ruins themselves had been absolutely beautiful, in a sad sort of way. Crumbling away into nothingness, with the nearby plants slowly devouring what remained… yet it had still stood so tall, so strong, despite the many years. In a way, it had reminded her of her family, stronger than anything and capable of enduring everything…

But while they had been walking through those broken, once cherished halls, the ceiling had given out right above them. They had all scattered, to not be crushed, and she… she had somehow ended up separated from all her siblings. All alone… on days when her siblings are particularly loud or annoying or patronizing, she had longed to be alone. But now that she is, she finds that she doesn't care for it that much. In fact, it makes her hands shake, even when she squeezes them together, and no amount of walking or searching brings relief because there's no one around. Her calls are only met with silence, or the echo of her voice. She hates it… she's scared… she's never going to take her siblings for granted again… if only she could find _someone_… she'd even take the prime minister's company if it meant not being alone in the silence…

Except things aren't so silent anymore. It's quiet, but she can hear a faint, wordless song in the distance. Though some part of her knows that wandering alone isn't smart, she follows it, hoping the song would lead to _someone_. Even better, it might lead to her siblings, though she doesn't recognize the voice at all. She's not sure she knows anyone who sings so prettily, except maybe those singers in the opera. But this song is _definitely_ not opera or anything. Just a string of notes, dancing about the branches as she follows it into the woods. Drawing her in, even as she trips over roots and rough bark scrapes her palms and thorny branches pull at her clothes and hair. But, slowly, the song gets louder and louder, until she's in a meadow filled with flowers that shine silver in the moonlight. And sitting in the middle is something that appears to be a young girl a few years older than her (maybe the same age as Eckbert), singing as she weaves flowers together into a crown. At first, she's elated to no longer be alone, even if the girl is a stranger, but then she becomes uneasy because despite the beautiful song, the girl's face holds no emotion. No expression at all. And she remembers stories of demons and angels and other otherworldly creatures that _look_ human, but aren't. In fact, now that she thinks about it, there had been one or two that mentioned songs luring unsuspecting victims to their doom…

"Well, you're a weird one." The new voice makes her shriek from utter terror and she whirls, hunting for the source. But no matter where she turns, there's nothing. Nothing but trees with shadows far too dark and branches reaching out like claws. Nothing but silver flowers that crunch under her feet. Nothing but the girl who no longer sings, but stares at her with eyes filled with nothing but the void, and an expression of stone. She had often heard the 'eyes were the windows to the soul', and wonders if the girl is without one, to have such empty eyes… "You might want to try looking _up_." She jerks her head up and freezes when she sees a young boy, similar to the girl in almost everything, emerge from the shadows like he had been part of them. "Why do people never look up?"

"Who are you?" she demands, fear making her voice high and unease making it shake. The boy's face changes and his dark eyes almost gleam in the dark, but he is no more comforting than the other one. After all, he watches her just like Father's eagles watch a rabbit, right before they swoop down to snatch it up in razor sharp talons. Or maybe the moment before that, when the eagle is trying to figure out if the rabbit is worth it or not. "Answer me!"

"But you're the one who walked in on us." The boy sits on the branches, almost dizzyingly high up. Her neck aches from having to look at him, and she unconsciously takes a step back when he smiles lazily at her. The smile resembles the crescent moon framing his head, but has none of the light or comfort the moon brings. "So?" She opens her mouth to say _something_, but her throat is dry. Like it had been replaced by cotton. "Who are you?" She shouldn't have followed the song. She should've just stayed put. Even being alone would be preferable to… to dying. She doesn't want to die. She needs to get strong so that she can help Klaus rule the Empire! She knows he'll be an amazing one, and she wants to help him! And there's all sorts of things she wants to do with her siblings and her father and-

"Brother, can you not see that she is frightened?" A voice with unnatural calm and even more unnatural gentleness stops her spiraling thoughts, and she looks over her shoulder to see the girl behind her, a respectful distance away, completed flower crown in hand. "Her hair and clothes are a mess, and she has bruises on her legs and scrapes on her palms. She must've gotten separated from whoever she's traveling with." The girl inclines her head slightly, still showing nothing. But she'll gladly take that 'nothing' over her brother! "Is that correct, miss?"

"I… yes?" she answers after a moment of hesitating. Without thinking about it, she's relaxing, though she still feels uneasy. "My siblings…"

"No wonder you are frightened." The girl comes closer and, surprisingly, sets the flower crown on her head. "It fits." She holds still as the girl carefully combs her fingers through her hair, not quite sure what's going on. "You know… those ribbons…"

"The purple ones I acquired from that brat?" the boy asks, jumping down and landing with all the silence of a cat. She has no idea how, considering he had been so high. "Hmm… yeah, I suppose. But why? She interrupted your song, and it's so rare you sing." There is only silence and she glances between the two, who look at each other as if they are having an entire conversation without even the slightest twitch of emotion. "Oh, fine." He sighs gustily and pulls out two thin, purple ribbons from his pocket. "Might have to shift the crown a bit." Then, with quick and efficient movements, the boy has tied her hair into pigtails. "Huh. Actually, they suit you." He fixes the crown and nods in satisfaction. "Anyway, where did you last see your siblings? The only thing in the direction you came from is that overgrown building." She nods slowly, her fear and unease replaced by bafflement. "Right, this way." And he strides off without looking back.

"I apologize for him," the girl murmurs, stepping into her view. Then she holds out her hand, _still_ not showing anything. Blank as nothingness. "But he's good at finding his way." Still, she takes the hand, and finds it surprisingly warm, with a gentle grip. "We'll get you home to your family."

They walk in silence, the girl knowing her brother's path through the dark despite him being out of sight. She wonders how, but doesn't ask. Instead, she continues holding the warm and gentle hand and lets herself be led, until they're back at the ruins of the old castle. And there are her siblings, calling for her. Without thinking, she runs to them, almost crying from relief, and it's only after dozens of hugs and Klaus asking about the ribbons and flower crown that she remembers her manners and turns to thank the two. But they're nowhere in sight, and there's not even a broken branch or anything that shows they had been there at all.

She wonders if they really had been a demon and angel. According to the stories, demons are emotionless, devoid of a soul, but some fight against their evil nature and pledge service to the Goddess as reapers and guides of the soul. Angels are more volatile, with emotions that never quite seem right with how human their faces look, for they are deliverers of the judgement of the Goddess, seeing into people's hearts and erasing the wicked from existence. Though, she had never heard a story of them looking so young, or giving ribbons and crowns as gifts…

She wonders if she'll see them again. If she does, she hopes she remembers to thank them.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Guess who! Nah, I won't make you do that. This is Edelgard, before the Insurrection of the Seven. Her siblings are never named from my understanding, so I picked some at random. Not all of them are named (she has ten and I think I only picked eight names?), and based on her supports, we know that she's got eight elder and two younger, and 'most' of her siblings don't have a Crest (so, I chose for only one other to have it)
> 
> (If you're curious about the ages of the twins, they're somewhere between 7-9 in both this one and the last one. The Patricia and Dimitri oneshot has them at around 10 or 11, ftr)


	6. Knight

Knight

* * *

"My dear, are you sure you don't mind watching them? I can call Gustave to assist."

"I'll be fine, Lambert. You fret too much. I think the greatest challenge will be getting Mitya and Felix to let go of Glenn!"

He listens to Their Majesties chat with half of his attention, using the conversation as a way to gauge whether or not it's time to leave yet. The rest of his attention is devoted to spinning around in circles with Lord Dimitri and Felix. It's a simple game, but the two love it to bits and he loves seeing them smile more than just about anything. And it's also him being helpful, because this game is the quickest way to tire the two out!

"I think they'll be easy for naptime!" he declares a moment later, tucking both of them in the corner before rushing over to Their Majesties. Both are quietly talking when he slides to a stop, but greet him with smiles. "Or maybe they decided naptime will be now." After all, Lord Dimitri and Felix are curled up together, fast asleep. And drooling. He can't wait to tease them about it later. "And if Felix gets sulky, you can tickle his sides, Lady Patricia."

"Thank you, Glenn," Lady Patricia murmurs, stroking his hair. He beams up at her and gets a smile in return. "I'm a bit surprised you're going along, though."

"I'm King Lambert's squire, though!" Well… he _almost_ is. It'll probably be another year. Well, Father said 'two years', but he's determined to make it one. At most. The faster he's a squire, the faster he can learn to be a true knight! "Besides, Father said that having me around might make His Majesty be less reckless for some reason?"

"Did he now?" Lady Patricia smirks at King Lambert, who looks away almost sulkily. It's funny how much the expression mirrors Lord Dimitri's own pout. "Well, I must say I do approve of that. I will be most vexed if you're injured, Lambert."

"A fate worse than death to be sure," King Lambert groans, covering his heart like it had taken a blow. But he quickly catches Lady Patricia's hand and kisses it. Lady Patricia blushes prettily at the gesture, and he makes a mental note to remember that trick with Ingrid, when they're older. After all, he's not sure what he feels about being engaged, or really what it means, but he knows it means he needs to make her happy. Blushing meant happy, right? "I promise to return safe and sound. And we'll go on that picnic you've been wanting when I do."

Lady Patricia's smile brightens at the news, and her blush deepens even more when the promise is sealed with another kiss on the hand. She mumbles some sort of excuse before fleeing, escaping to the corner where Lord Dimitri and Felix are sleeping and futilely trying to cover her cheeks to hide the blush. King Lambert snickers, his eyes warm and dancing in amusement, but he simply begins leading him out of the room and towards the front. His father is most likely out there already, fretting over things. His father tends to fret a lot, particularly when family is involved, and sometimes, it's annoying. But nowadays, he likes it because…

"Glenn, how have you been doing?" King Lambert asks softly once they're quite a ways down the hall. A warm, but heavy, hand on his shoulder keeps him from walking off. "I understand you've been focused on Felix?"

"Yeah, because Felix is really confused about why Mother isn't here anymore," he answers easily. Though the words themselves don't feel 'right' in his mouth. The sound of them doesn't feel 'real'. "I mean… it's been…" He doesn't know what to say from there, but there is an ache in his chest, heavy as a block of ice and just as cold. It's been there for a few months, ever since his mother died. "I don't know?"

"That's normal." King Lambert kneels next to him to better look him in the eye, and gently ruffles his hair. "But I'm worried you're trying to play caretaker to Rodrigue as well as Felix, and ignoring yourself."

"I like helping?"

"Yes, but a parent's duty is to care for their children. In Rodrigue's case, it's not only his duty, but his pleasure. So, if you're hiding your own pain to try and lessen his…" King Lambert shakes his head, smiling ruefully. "Well, it has the opposite effect. Trust me. I've heard… oh, thousands of lectures from him about it."

"Really?" He frowns, not quite understanding. "But…"

"How would you feel if Felix or Dimitri hid their pain?"

"I'd be really upset and-!" And the puzzle falls into place. "Oh." He smiles sheepishly and King Lambert grins in return. "Um… I'll talk to him after this, then… I'm not really sure how I feel?"

"That's also normal." King Lambert stands and holds out his hand. He takes it without hesitation, and why should he hesitate? King Lambert is family. "Does it feel real?"

"Not really." The two walk down the hall again, and he tries to make sense of the thoughts that swirl in his head. "But I also kind of admire how she died? But not like a 'good' admire? Because I'm sad and it hurts and all. But…" But his mother… she had died protecting their people. She had died protecting those she'd loved with all that she was. He can't help but admire that, even though it all hurts. "I don't know."

"There's always complicated feelings when someone you love dies in battle. Or even just unexpectedly." King Lambert's eyes are dark and sad for a moment, and he remembers how his first wife, Lord Dimitri's birth mother, had been stolen by the plague just a few years ago. Fine one day, but gone the next. Lord Dimitri had barely been a few weeks old. "And it takes time and a bit of distance to help make some sense of the mess. Which is why I'm doing this myself instead of letting a knight handle it."

"Huh?" He frowns. "What do you mean?"

But King Lambert doesn't answer. Instead, he just leads him out the front doors where his father is waiting with the horses, and they begin their trek to… whatever village they're going to. He's not entirely sure, save that they are in one of the remotest regions of the country and that if one crossed the nearby mountains, they'd find themselves in Duscar. And if they went south along the coast, they'd hit the Rhodos Coast, where a shrine to Saint Cichol is (or so he thinks his lessons went). But this village? No clue. It definitely isn't on any maps. So, he finds it exciting, and he's even more excited as the days go by, and his father's smiles and laughs come easier and grow brighter.

"Why are we investigating?" he finally asks once they're at the outskirts of the village. It's quiet, quaint, and the snow is thick, showing that they either had no one to shovel a path or that the snow had recently stopped here. "And… what are we investigating?"

"We're looking into why there's been an increase in mercenary hires recently, Glenn," his father explains, helping him off the horse. He'd normally protest, but his father clings a little, so he knows that it's like when he holds onto Felix tightly after a nightmare. "That's all."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Not necessarily. Mercenaries are a valued…" His father frowns, trying to think of a word as he ties his horse to a nearby tree. "Why is the only word I can think of 'resource'? That makes them sound like objects."

"Probably the phrasing, old friend," King Lambert teases, tying up his own horse with ease. He watches closely, knowing that one day, he'll need to know that same trick. "But yes, they are needed. Mercenaries can look at battles in a different perspective than knights, and think of strategies that wouldn't occur to knights. Just because of their different training, and the experience they gather on the various fields they fight."

"Because they're money-grubbing?" he asks, repeating what he often hears the knights growl and grumble. He winces when both his father and King Lambert sigh. "Um…"

"No, but they _do_ think of things in a more pragmatic light. That's not a bad thing, mind. Often times, the only way to maximize survivors _is_ to look at things pragmatically, and because of the training knights have… well, they might not think of that. Additionally, mercenaries are used to smaller numbers, which give different tactics as well." King Lambert stretches and waits while Father fusses over the knots and reins of both horses. "Besides, I know many mercenaries with far more honor than some long-standing knights."

"...So, why are we looking into why this village is hiring more?"

"Because hiring more mercenaries hints that there's a problem, Glenn. Few hire mercenaries for anything else." King Lambert reaches down and ruffles his hair. "And I have _no_ reports or records of a problem in this area. So, I need to see what it is and why I've not been informed."

"He also just wants the excuse to run around like he used to, without Gustave to chide him," Father instantly deadpans, not even looking up from his fussing. King Lambert just laughs at the barb. "Now, remember Your Majesty, you're going by 'Lionel' here. Because no one will suspect anything of the lion motif."

King Lambert just laughs again and leads the way into the village proper. He and Father follow closely, and he holds his father's hand as he looks about curiously. The people smile tiredly, but warmly, at them as they pass. There's some signs of new repairs on the houses, and quite a few wear the black and dark gray of mourning. They had been some sort of attack here. Even he can see that.

"Demon! Give me back my dad!" That shout catches his attention as King Lambert and Father talk with a baker or someone in the streets to gather information. A couple of the nearby adults glance towards the sound, wherever it is, but look away, like this is a normal thing. Perhaps it is, so he tries to ignore it. "Monster!" But… but he can't. He can't. His heart aches and something just doesn't seem right. So, he slips his hand from Father's and rushes towards the noise, wincing as the screams are punctuated by the all too distinct 'slams' and 'slaps' of someone beating someone else. "It's your fault! Bring him back!" The adults continue looking away, and he's not sure why. He's even less sure when he finds the source of the sound and sees that it's not just one child beating another. It's a group all kicking and punching a young girl with darker hair, throwing mud and rocks at her as she bleeds. The girl herself… just seems to be taking the blows, not fighting back or anything. And that's… that's…!

"Enough!" he snaps, pushing his way through and standing protectively in front of the girl. It's easy, because they're not bigger than him and he's _way_ better trained. "Who goes around hitting someone who doesn't even fight back!" He glares, livid, and the group of children glare at him as well, filled with the kind of fury only deep sorrow can bring. "If you want a fight so badly, I'll take you on. But, fair warning, you'll lose." Not a single child takes him up on the 'offer', so he turns and kneels in front of the girl, helping her up so that she's at least sitting in the snow and mud. The first thing he notices is that her hair and eyes are the same color, a beautiful and unusual dark teal. The second is that she's probably about Sylvain's age, and that just makes him all the angrier (after all, he adores Sylvain, just as much as he adores Felix and Lord Dimitri). The third thing is that despite the bruising and blood, she doesn't cry. She doesn't whimper. Her expression is blank, like she doesn't feel anything.

"See? She's a monster!" one of the children snaps behind him. He barely glances at them, more focused on helping the girl actually stand up. Her clothes are ruined by the mud, and she's easily soaked through. "A total-!"

"Oh, shut up!" He whirls to glare again. Because who cares if she's different? A person is a person. And he knows that not all pain is expressed the same way. He hadn't cried yet over his mother's death, but that didn't mean it didn't ache. "I don't think you've got any moral ground to stand on, you morons! _You're_ the ones who attacked her!" And based on what he had seen before, and what he sees now? She hadn't once attacked them. "No better than bandits, just hurting people because you can!"

"Meh, better to save your breath, weirdo." That's a new voice, and he glares at the newcomer for a second, before realizing that they had to be a relative of the girl. A boy, based on the clothes, with the same coloring as the girl. But while the girl is stoic and expressionless, the boy's eyes are alight with the same fierceness of an icestorm and his smile is as razor-sharp as a lion's claws. "People never listen when it comes to how odd my twin and I are," the boy continues, skipping over and quickly swapping coats with the girl. "And they get encouraged by the adults to… what was it… 'beat some humanity' into her?"

"...Dastards," he growls, fury building. No, more than building. This isn't right, and he's ashamed to share a country with people like this. Almost agonizes on how these people live in Faerghus, the country of knights. This isn't right, and impulsively, he makes a quiet vow in his heart to _never_ be like this people. He wants to be a true knight, like his father and like King Lambert, and he knows this isn't it. "Where's your family? I'll walk you home."

"Oh, Papa's not here. He's the mercenary they hired to deal with the bandits that fell on them. Well, I say bandits, but since everything about the attack was so methodical, Papa thinks it's some lord's soldiers." The boy rattles the words off easily, but they just make him feel sicker. Is that why King Lambert hadn't heard anything? "We were hiding in our room at the inn like usual, but they dragged my sister out while I was getting us food."

"In that case, why don't you two stay with us until your father returns?" King Lambert's voice is a comfort to hear, but when he turns to look, he can see the ice-cold glare on his face. It's directed at the nearby adults, but he knows what that look means. If not for the restraining hand Father has on King Lambert's arm, the adults would have been seeing for themselves the legendary strength of the royal family. "I find it troubling that the villagers do not seem to appreciate the service your father is doing for them," King Lambert continues, his voice as light as the snowflake that snaps the branch. "And it's clear that she needs medical treatment."

The twins glance at each other before the boy nods, and within the hour, they have their things together and are riding on King Lambert's horse while King Lambert leads it down the path. He leads Father's horse, while Father 'settles' the bill in the inn (with a smile that tells him the innkeeper is in a _lot_ of trouble), and he makes sure to keep pace so that he can talk to the twins. It's mostly nonsense, but the boy seems to enjoy the conversation, even if the girl remains silent all the way to the cabin not far from the village. He's not sure why it's here, but he does know that it had always been in the plans to stay there during 'information gathering'. And it's well-stocked with all sorts of things, because Gustave had sent people earlier to make sure everything is safe and secure. Because Gustave is like that.

"You people are really weird," the boy declares much later, long after the twins had baths and a change of clothes (and bandages for the girl). King Lambert and Father are in the kitchen area fixing up something (while Father gleefully tells King Lambert about the innkeeper's reactions) and he's sitting with the twins, making sure they're nice and warm. "Never had a stranger treat us nicely before."

"I'm sorry you have to deal with that," he whispers, paying extra care to tuck the fluffiest blanket they have around the girl. Neither volunteered names, but he's… not sure if he has either. Bit awkward now. "I am curious why you didn't fight back."

"Leth never fights back." The boy shrugs, and he makes a mental note of the name. It's probably a nickname, and he knows how picky some people can be about nicknames. Not just the person, but the caller as well. After all, the reason why Lady Patricia uses 'Mitya' for Lord Dimitri instead of the more common 'Dima' is because Felix calls Lord Dimitri that and Felix _hates_ sharing (unless it's with Lord Dimitri, Ingrid, or Sylvain). "I don't mind, but then I get in trouble for it."

"You get in trouble because you nearly kill them," 'Leth' whispers, the first words she'd spoken the entire time. Her expression still doesn't change, but the way she huddles in the blanket makes him at least think she likes it. "And I don't like fighting." He's not entirely sure that should count when self-defense is needed, but before he can say that, the girl focuses on him. It's… at first, her gaze is a bit unnerving, but he pushes that unease down because it's not like there's anything _wrong_. She's just different. "Why did you help me, though?"

"Because that's what a knight does," he answers without thinking about it. The twins look at each other, and the boy's eyes show confusion. "Knights are supposed to protect the lands and help people. I mean… I'm old enough to know that it can get complicated." Though, he's not sure how exactly? But it's been part of his lessons since he'd been small, so he knows it's true. "You needed help. So, I helped."

"Is that all a knight does? Help?"

"Well, that's the sort of knight I'd like to be at least." That's a bit easier to go with and he smiles at the thought. "I work hard for it."

"You do?" 'Leth' still stares, but now that he's looking, he thinks he can see some sort of light in her eyes. A quiet, very quiet, light. It reminds him of the light in Ingrid's eyes when she listens to her father read the _Sword of Kyphon_. "Why?"

"Well, I have to be strong if I want to keep people safe."

"I always thought that a knight just serves their liege, though? Without thinking for themselves."

"I'm sure there are knights like that, and I can't say that I don't look forward to serving my liege." He grins, finding it so easy to imagine. "Though, _my_ liege won't be the current king. I'll learn from him, but he's got his knights. I'll be His Highness's knight, which is another reason I have to work hard." The twins once again look confused, but his own grin widens. "Well, the prince is like my little brother! And it's the job of an older brother to protect the younger. That's just what you do for people you love. You protect them with everything you have." And he will protect Lord Dimitri until the day he dies, just as he will protect Felix and Ingrid and Sylvain. "I think I rambled a bit, huh? You two want a story or something?"

"That sounds like fun, but…" 'Leth' hesitates, still looking right at him. It's almost like she's trying to see into his heart. He can only hope that if she is, his heart is nice to look at. "What if you die?"

"Then… I die, I suppose? And I know it'll hurt. Not just… you know… how dying can be painful and all." He thinks of his mother and his smile becomes sad. "And I'm sure I'd die with regrets." Because he knows that his mother did. "But still, if that's what it comes to, that's what it comes to, I think. If I didn't do everything I could to protect my loved ones, then I'd regret it more. That's what I think. For now." He shrugs, now feeling sheepish. "Might change when I'm older and smarter. Anyway, we're too serious. You two have a favorite story?"

The twins didn't and, even more surprisingly, they hadn't heard of _any_ of the books he'd brought with him. So, all through the night, they went through the stories, with even King Lambert and Father listening in and reading along. At some point during _Loog and the Maiden of Wind_, the twins fell asleep, curled up next to him in the mess of blankets, and he hadn't stayed awake much long afterwards. And fast asleep all three of them had remained until the morning when someone (wearing a hooded cloak that hides their face) knocks on the door and opens it without a word. He automatically grabs the twins while King Lambert goes for his spear and Father preps a spell, but 'Leth' wriggles out of the blankets first and rushes over to hug the intruder.

"Papa!" the boy greets cheerfully as he manages to follow his twin and tackle the intruder's leg. The intruder half-falls to his knees to hug the twins tightly. "We're fine! These three are completely weird!"

"I apologize for the fright we no doubt gave, but we couldn't leave the two in the village's care in good faith," King Lambert explains, relaxing slowly. Father waves away the spell and heads to the kitchen. He wonders what to do, before deciding to first untangle himself from the blankets. "Especially given how ungrateful they were. You were helping them and they…"

"I'm used to it," the twins' father says. He stands slowly, easily picking up 'Leth' and pulling the hood of his cloak further over his face before reaching down to take the boy's hand. "I'd hoped to be quicker, but the ones who attacked the village are far too trained to be simple 'bandits'. Took longer than I would've liked."

"Your son mentioned the possibility of knights being involved." King Lambert laughs softly when the twins' father sighs gustily. "I take it that's a common thing?"

"Az has no sense of tact. He's told people to their faces that their spouses are cheating on them, for one thing." The twins' father bows slightly, but is quick to straighten. Like he's afraid the hood will fall or something. "Thank you for looking after my children, though. They're all I have."

"Truthfully, it was our pleasure. Both are a delight."

"Huh. Az must've been behaving for once, then." 'Az' just laughs, still clinging to his father's hand. "But we'll head out now. These two want to see the aurora."

"Ah, yes, we are in the best season for that." King Lambert nods, and almost says something. He can see it. But, for some reason, the words are bitten back. "I wish you safe travels, and thank you again for helping the village, especially knowing how they'd react."

The twins' father says something and turns to leave. However, he doesn't feel right just having them leave, so he quickly pulls out the last book they'd been reading (_Loog and the Maiden of Wind_) and rushes over to give it to 'Az'. "Here," he explains with a grin. 'Az' takes it curiously, frowning a bit. "You didn't get to finish it. I've got another copy." And even if he didn't, he can just buy one. Perks of being a noble. "And hopefully it'll remind you that there are weird people?" Wait, that alone sounds weird. "Er…" But Az laughs and nods. And when he glances up, he sees a tiny-tiny smile on 'Leth's' face. "Have fun!" He makes sure to wave until the trio is out of sight, even standing outside to make sure he could.

When he heads in, he can see King Lambert and Father nursing some sort of tea. "Lambert, why did you not invite him to join the knights?" Father asks, leaning against the table. There's another mug there, and he grabs it to warm his numb fingers. "I know you wanted to."

"I did, but something about his demeanor… well, I couldn't see his face, but I couldn't help but think he might've been a knight to someone, but lost faith," King Lambert answers with a shrug. He's more focused on the tea. "If our paths cross again, I'll ask then, but… well, I also didn't want him feeling like I was using his kids against him."

"Ah, I see. Yes, that's understandable." Father nods and he scoots closer to his father to get a little hug. "Now, that information… how shall we act on it?"

Almost a shame that the 'mission' didn't end then, because maybe they could've caught up with the twins and their father it had. But he can hope that they'll meet again. And, if they do, he hopes he's a better knight then… that way, he can answer 'Leth' a bit better.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: So, have a bit of a take on Glenn? Fun fact, the exchange between the twins and Glenn towards the end here? Imagining that is kinda what inspired this oneshot series. Sword of Kyphon and Loog and the Maiden of Wind are both stories referenced in support convos in-game. (Glenn is also more sarcastic/biting according to the supports, but I'm choosing that to be something that developed when he was older.)
> 
> Also, ngl, I've seen bunches of contradicting info on just when Patricia married Lambert, but based on a few comments from the game (and for my own ease), I'm assuming it's when Dimitri was fairly young (around one or two, perhaps?). There's nothing mentioned about Rodrigue's wife, so I made something up about why that is.
> 
> The twins are… probably around five or six years old here. Which puts Dimitri and Felix two or three; ftr, that means Sylvain is four or five, and Ingrid is two or three. There's not anything about how old Glenn is (at the moment, at least), so… uh… just have fun with whatever you think? I figured he was older than Sylvain, at least.
> 
> (As for why Jeralt was careful about the hood; I'm thinking that at least for the first few years, he stuck to remote regions and was careful to hide his appearance in order to… you know… hide.)


	7. Home

Home

* * *

He's not entirely certain when Remire Village became the 'home base' for him and his children. For one thing, it's a little close to the monastery for his liking, not even a day's travel away. Though, it's off the beaten path in many ways, to the point that it's not even listed on detailed maps on the area, and after so long, no one is going to be looking for him (or his twins) so close to the church. He only had known about it because… well, after living so long, you kind of had a lot of opportunities to explore. It had meant to be a simple stop along the way. Not a place where he and his twins repeatedly return to. And yet…

"You have such pretty hair, Byleth!" He hears Madeline, one of the village girls, gush with praise and he looks up from his checks to see her tying ribbons into his daughter's hair. Byleth has no reaction, but that doesn't deter Madeline one bit. "Come on! Help me with sewing, will you? Tried to get Azrael to teach him, but one hint of a needle and he was halfway towards the woods before I could blink!" Right… Azrael's rather curious phobia of needles certainly led to stories like that. His son's fear and hatred of them is so visceral that he can't even _watch_ people sew. "And away we go!" He watches as Madeline takes Byleth's arm and drags her down the path, and smiles as the other villagers greet them with smiles.

It reminds him of just why he had decided to 'stop by' a second time, after finishing a job. This place… it had been the only village they'd visited that hadn't called Azrael and Byleth 'monsters' on sight. To the people here, his twins are just… odd. Very odd. Odder than most. But still, just 'odd'. And maybe that's why he lingers, because in Remire, his twins can actually have interactions with people that aren't 'battle', 'assault', or 'verbal abuse'.

"Father, what are you doing?" That said, staying here in Remire did give his twins one habit that he's not sure he likes. The two had bounced around different terms for him over the years, and typically had settled with 'Dad' or (when they particularly need comfort) 'Papa'. And the two had decided, for _some reason_, that they would call him 'Father' under very specific circumstances. Circumstances that made him squirm and sweat and instantly try to recall anything and everything that had happened recently. "Father." They only call him that when they're particularly exasperated or, worse, angry at him.

"Yes, Azrael?" he asks, laughing awkwardly as he turns to find Azrael standing not far away and frowning with narrowed eyes. Not good… "What is it?" Azrael just points at the flask that's tucked away with his things. "I always take… oh, boy…" Another habit the twins have gotten into is worrying about his alcohol intake. Which isn't… well… actually, he knows he doesn't have much of an argument there. Save that between the crest-blood and long years of practice, it looks worse than it is. But that's not really an 'explanation' or anything and he knows it. Especially when his son is making horrible frowny-faces at him. "Okay, fine, fine! I'll take a smaller flask!"

"I guess that'll do, Dad," Azrael sighs gustily. But the use of 'Dad' tells him that everything is okay. "You're heading to the Alliance, right?"

"Yeah, simple job. Poachers or something." And for the first time in a few years, neither of his twins are actually coming with him. For one thing, they just got off a rough job and he knows Byleth needs some peace (and Azrael won't leave his sister alone among 'strangers', even ones as kind and accepting as Remire). For another, the job is for Gloucester and… well, he's had employers in the past try to use his children as hostages to force him into working for them. Given the rumors, he has no doubts Gloucester would do the same and he can't get away with snapping that lordling's neck and leaving. "Don't accept jobs while I'm away, okay?"

"Like we know how. You handle all that." That _is_ true. Mostly because he has long years of practice in making sure a contract is good. "We'll be fine. And if not, I'll kill everyone and call a tornado or something to hide the evidence and destroy the place." Azrael shrugs, like the words hadn't meant anything at all. But he knows they did. Azrael doesn't care enough about people to make threats. "Not sure where Byleth is."

"She's sewing." And he muffles a laugh when Azrael shudders. It just… bad as it sounds, he's actually rather glad Azrael has fears like that. Much like Byleth's own fear of the dark. Makes him feel like… he doesn't know. It's an odd feeling, really. "Try to behave while I'm away."

"I'll _try_. I guess." Azrael sticks out his tongue and he just laughs. "Come home soon, Dad."

"...Yeah, be home soon."

He's not sure when Remire became their 'home base'. But… he's glad for it. He's very glad for it.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Jeralt mentions in-game that he owes Remire a debt or something similar, so I tried to think of why that might be. And considering that's where everything starts plot wise… yeah. xD just a short little thing


	8. Opera

Opera

* * *

He hadn't really expected much from this job. It's just a nice and easy one for the Mittelfrank Opera Company, to be 'bodyguards' and 'security' for a show. Death threats and kidnapping threats are common, but rarely come to anything, so it's just one of those jobs that most mercenaries take when they need a break. But tonight, they're being extra careful. Not only do they have a new member (some girl picked up from the streets), but the star of the show, the 'Divine Songstress', is immensely popular, always attracting the wealthy and nobility. And tonight, there's some _very_ high ranked nobility in the audience tonight. Up to and including Prime Minister Aegir and his heir, and, even higher, Princess Edelgard with her uncle, Lord Arundel. Which is why he and his twins are stationed closer to the stage than normal. If something actually happened, and the four are caught up? The Company's reputation would be shredded to pieces. Even with that, though, it's still an easy job for easy money. Something he chose specifically to give his twins a break, and to… somewhat keep a promise to Fiona. He hadn't expected anything from it. No, not all all. So, of course, something unexpected happens. But, for once, it isn't a 'bad' unexpected.

"How the crimson rain of pain it came, falling hard upon a land aflame~" It's how much Byleth had _adored_ it. "When the sacred blade it split the sky, until the heavens heard our cry~" Now it's after the show, long after in fact, and he's watching Byleth sing and dance about the room the three of them share like the child she is.

"I think the sword dance went more like this." Then there is Azrael, who at least joins in with the dancing, though he's not sure if it's because of adoration (like Byleth) or if its because Byleth is having fun. Either way, he can't help but smile as he watches them both just… play. They're playing and he couldn't be happier. "Can't believe that lady did this _while_ singing."

He continues watching them from the table, enjoying how his twins are acting their age (for once) and are just having fun. And as he watches, he thinks of that promise to Fiona. Something they had discussed in the early months of her pregnancy, when she still had the breath to sing and dance about their quarters while she cleaned and cooked. She had told him about how she wished she could come with him on a job to Enbarr, because she had always been curious about the opera. He had promised to take her whenever she wanted, and she had laughed and decided that the trip should wait until after their child (children, really, but they hadn't known at the time that she'd been carrying twins) was born. A first family trip, so to speak… the four of them could never go, but he had still wanted to keep that promise, so he…

"Papa!" He blinks, startled out of his memories by Byleth's suprisingly loud (for her) voice. But he smiles immediately when she faces him with a soft expression, her eyes narrowed slightly in quiet glee. "Azrael isn't singing the other part right," she explained. Behind her, Azrael made a face and stuck out his tongue. "Will you sing with me?"

"Of course," he answers without hesitation. He'd always been a bit shy about singing (Lady Rhea had teased him about it quite a few times over the decades), but he can never refuse a request from either of his twins. Just like he could never say 'no' to Fiona. "Which song?"

He'd have to make it a habit, to take up this sort of job whenever they are near Enbarr. He doubts they'll ever be stationed so close to the stage again, probably just in the corridors, but they could at least hear the music. And maybe, just maybe, he'll see them having fun just like this again.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Edelgard's supports with Manuela mention that the night her uncle took her to the Kingdom, she got to see Manuela perform. And Ferdinand's supports with Manuela reveal he's an avid fan, having seen many of her performances during his childhood. And operas are convenient excuses to meet up with conspirators. So, that's why they're both mentioned. As for the 'new addition' to the opera, yes, that's Dorothea. Her bio mentions she joined the Company in 1171, the same year as the Insurrection of the Seven.
> 
> The lyrics, btw, come from Ferdinand's A support with Manuela.


	9. Warmth

Warmth

* * *

Stupid. It had been stupid to listen to Miklan and follow him up into the mountains that surround their home. But Miklan is his brother, and he knows that things are rough for a crestless son of House Gautier. Particularly when there's one _with_ a crest in the family. And he just wants to somehow make this work. Neither of them are at fault for how they're treated. He wants to support his brother, be there for him. He wants to love him and be _family_, not just valued for something he'd been born with. So, that's why he'd done something stupid and now… well, now, he's certain that it's not only going to be the last stupid thing he does, but it's going to be the last thing he does _period_. Because here he is, stuck and lost on the mountainside, in the middle of winter.

He's got some protection, of course. Winters are brutal, and not even animals are allowed outside without something to ward off the chill. But it's only _some_. Enough to protect him for a few hours from the biting wind and chips of ice. Not however long it's going to take for someone to find his icicle of a corpse. His fingers are already numb and each breath feels like thousands of knives. All the worse because he'd slipped, and now, he can't get his feet under him. He tries, but all he manages is to shove snow into his boots, freezing his already numb feet. And his face burns from the cold, despite the scarf he has. He needs to move. He knows these are all bad signs. But he just… can't…

"I thought I saw someone." A gentle voice. A gentle and warm voice. Foreign, based on the accent, probably from around the center of Fodlan, where the monastery is. "You're freezing," the person continues, gentle and warm voice completely even. Whoever it is turns him over, and cushions his head in their lap. He forces his eyes open and sees a stoic face. And pretty much just that, because they're smart enough to be completely bundled up. All he can make out is that their eyes are some sort of blue or green. "It's okay." They don't smile, and they show no emotion. But the gloved hand that brushes the snow off his face and scarf is almost unbearably warm. He closes his eyes again to focus on not flinching away, and only catches a mumble of whatever they say next. 'Life… flames… heed…' Something like that. "There we go…" They rest their hands on him and, slowly, warmth fills him. Despite the chill… maybe this was dying. Maybe this is a fairy giving him one last blessing before he passes. "Ah, Papa, over here."

"And here I'd hoped you two had just been seeing things." That voice is gruffer, but there's still something warm to it. Strong, too. "Let's get him out of the wind, at least." The second person, whoever they are, picks him up with ease and he shivers as some ice slips past his collar. But then the first person takes his hand and warmth seeps in again. "Using your magic?"

"He's very cold."

"That he is."

He nods off as he's carried, lulled into dozing by the even gait of whoever is carrying and the warmth from the first person. As such, he barely even notices when the wind disappears, and it definitely takes him a moment to realize that his outer clothes are taken off and, really, he only makes the connection after he's tucked into a large pile of fluffy blankets and pillows. It's warm. It's painfully warm, really, but soon, he grows used to it. That's when he opens his eyes, to see that he's in some small, one room cabin (likely a place specifically set up for travelers caught in blizzards). A fire roars in the fireplace, providing most of the light, and there's two people wearing thick heavy coats and scarves and, really, just about everything and more you need to survive outside during a Gautier winter. Sitting next to him, though, is that first person. Who still holds his hand.

"Who are you people?" he asks softly, coughing as the words creak and croak their way out his throat. The first person just watches him, and with the added light, he decides their eyes are blue-green. It's still all he can tell, save that maybe (just maybe) they're his age. "Where are we?"

"We're just travelers. Papa finished up a job fighting off the Sreng people," they answer easily, still as emotionless as before. But warm and, honestly, warmth is all he cares about at the moment. "My twin saw that person leave you behind." Ah, well that sort of explains how they'd found him. Pure dumb luck. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." It's true. Sort of. He's actually in some pain, but he knows that's a good thing. In this situation, at least. "I didn't think magic could warm a person like this?" He knows a bit about magic. Mostly because he likes math, and tactics, and Reason magic is almost like running math through tactics. He gets bored easily, though.

"My magic is… weird." There's a bit of hesitancy to their voice, though their expression doesn't change. "Ah, Papa, he's awake."

"I figured when I heard talking." The second person, the one who had carried him, leans into view. All he can tell is that they have gruffer features than their child, and some sort of brown-gold for an eye color. "Good, I was worried we didn't have enough blankets, even with your magic," they continue. He wonders why they're so bundled up, before realizing that if _he's_ in a pile, then they had likely given him all the blankets they had. Treating him, a stranger, more kindly than his own flesh and blood… "Hey, kid. You think you can sit up and get something in your stomach?"

"Maybe?" he answers after a moment. It takes him a couple of tries to actually push himself up and, really, the second one (the father) has to help him. The first one, the one with warm hands and weird magic, tucks a blanket around his shoulders. It's the last one, who looks almost exactly like the first one, who brings him a bowl full of soup. "Looks good…" Simple, perhaps. But good. And it tastes even better, as he soon discovers.

"Hunger makes anything look and taste good." The father chuckles and pats his head. "Eat slowly, now. I doubt you want to be sick on top of everything." No, that would, indeed, suck. A lot. "Lets see if the tea is done." The father walks away, tending to a kettle and humming a song under his breath.

"You have sucky family," the third one states bluntly as soon as their father is away. The first one looks at him with a blank expression that apparently says more to their twin than to him, because the third one instantly winces. "What? It's true! Just left him out in the wilderness like that!" Continued stare. Continued flinching. "Ugh… I'm _sorry_…" The 'apology' sounds like Felix's when he's particularly whiny. Or one of his own apologies, when Ingrid is attempting to scold him for something he finds entertaining. "Still think you should've let me drop that branch on his head."

"That would've killed him," the first one protests, still showing nothing. But they fuss with his blankets, making sure he's warm, and honestly, that speaks more about their character than any sort of emotion. He does wish he could see a smile, though. He feels like they'd have a pretty one.

"And?"

"Killing is wrong."

"Yeah, so why does that person get to walk away from attempting a murder, while I get grumbled at?" The twin scowls, but the first one ignores them. He almost snickers because it reminds him of Glenn and Felix. "Hey, you want more?" It takes a moment for him to realize that the twin is talking to him, and really, it's only because he tries to eat more soup, but only comes up with an empty spoon. "I'll get you more."

"First, I want him to drink this tea and see if everything settles in his stomach," the father chides, returning with four mugs easily balanced between two hands. The twin helps with passing them out. "Old mercenary buddy swears by this for recovering from a deep chill like what you experienced. Bit of cayenne, bit of ginger, bit of red wolf azolla…" He's never heard about that last one. "Can be a bit bitter, though."

He hesitates, because bitter, but he notices the other two sipping the tea easily and, so, he decides to just drink. And nearly scalds his tongue because he'd taken too large of a gulp. But the second try is better and, while it is bitter, it's not much worse than the cheese Gautier lands are famous for. And he swears it warms him to his blood, spreading all out so that even the tips of his toes are toasty warm. It's amazing, really.

He continues sipping the tea while the father and his children clean things up, savoring every bit of the taste. He yawns when he finishes the last drop, and the twin is there to take his mug, while the first one helps him lay down to rest, holding his hand again. The warmth from before fills him, and he can't help but smile as he dozes. If this is death, it's certainly a nice one.

At some point much later (hours, he thinks), loud 'thuds' startle him awake. He moves to sit up, and he sees that the first one and their twin are sitting in front of him protectively, while the father has a naked blade in hand. His breath catches and he wonders what is going on just before the door of the cabin bursts open. Someone wearing armor and carrying a weapon lunges forward with a war bellow, but the father doesn't even flinch. In the blink of an eye, the armored wearing person is face down on the ground, groaning and unmoving, with their armor cracked and their weapon shattered. The second attacker fares a little longer, three blinks versus one, but they're defeated just as easily. Same for the third. It's after the third that he recognizes the armor at last, and just in time, because he can hear an achingly familiar voice just outside, calling for 'his lance'. And he knows what that means.

"Father, is that you?" he calls, shakily standing. The first one helps steady him, while the twin shifts to shield them both. "Father, it's me! I'm fine! They saved me!" He hopes he's loud enough, and believable enough. Even he knows how stubborn his father is, and how long it can take to get him to change his mind once he assumes something. "I'm fine!"

"Are you?" And in steps his father, looking around with narrowed eyes. He breaths a sigh of relief when he sees just an ordinary lance in his father's hand, instead of the Lance of Ruin. His father _would_ use it if he is riled enough. "And who are you three?" his father asks, voice dry. "Why do you have my son?"

"Because your other son sucks and left him to freeze to death," the twin deadpans instantly, before anyone can even breath, much less respond. The father facepalms before adjusting his scarf to hide his face. "You're welcome, by the way. My twin saved his life."

"Really?" His father frowns, but relaxes when he nods vigorously. "I see. My apologies for the… ah…"

"Assumption that could've killed us if Papa wasn't better than your soldiers?"

"Yes. That." His father chuckles, amused by the bluntness, while the father sighs and sheathes his sword. "It seems I am in your debt, kind sir. Please, won't you accompany us? I need to repay you."

"Nah, you don't need payment for saving a kid," the father refuses with a shrug. He walks over to a corner and shakes out some clothes. He recognizes them as his own. "Well, unless you hired me, but you didn't and, really, I'm on my way to another job." He hands the clothes to the first one, who helps him get them on. "If you can ignore that I knocked out three of your knights and not bring me before a judge for it, I think we'll call it even."

There's a bit of arguing. After all, his father is a firm believer in repaying debts. But the father is just as stubborn and uses a good bit of logic to get his father to yield. So, before long, he's dressed in his own clothes, with a blanket tucked around him for extra warmth, and his father is carrying him out of the little cabin, while some of the other knights carry their unconscious fellows. He twists to look over his father shoulder and makes sure to wave goodbye at the three. The father nods, and the first one and their twin wave back. Scarves around all their faces make it hard to see if they're smiling or not, but he smiles anyway.

"...No, this just does not feel right," his father grumbles once they're a ways down the road. He makes some noise in question, all he can really do with how tightly his father is holding him. "I can't simply leave it at that. Not when they saved your life, Sylvain." His father nods at one of the knights nearby, before wrestling a coin-purse and a token bearing the crest of Gautier on it. He knows that token; their knights carry them in case they need assistance in other parts of the Kingdom, but need to keep their presence quiet. "Return to them and hand them this. Drop it in the children's hands if it's refused." The knight salutes and rushes back down the road, and his father returns to clinging to him. "How are you feeling, Sylvain?"

"Squished," he answers honestly. It gets a laugh from his father, though his grip doesn't loosen one bit. "But I'm fine. I mean; I'm a little cold, but that's because they were very warm. They even gave me soup and some sort of tea." Which reminds him of something. "Hey, what's red wolf azolla?"

"I've never heard of it." That's really interesting then. His father isn't as knowledgeable with herbs and herbal remedies like Lord Lonato over in the west, but he at least knows the local plants well enough. "I wonder if it's another name for a plant around here. We'll look it up when we're home."

They're almost back at the castle when the knight returns, coin-purse and token still in hand. Before his father can yell, though, the knight reveals that the cabin is completely empty. No father, no children, no blankets… the only sign of life around there is footprints in the snow, but even then, it's just the knights' footprints. Not the three civilians at all.

"Maybe they were fairies," Glenn theorizes as he hunts through some sort of herbal glossary book much later. His Majesty and Lord Rodrigue had decided to pay a surprise visit, even swinging by Galatea's lands to pick up Ingrid (well, more like His Majesty did), so when he'd safely returned, he'd found himself pinned with hugs. In fact, he's still pinned, which is why Glenn is researching for him, while the grown ups talk serious things. "You hear the stories all the time."

"Maybe…" he grunts, wiggling to try and get free. But His Highness has the infamous Blaiddyd strength and so, even while asleep, keeps an iron grip on his waist. Which makes it very easy for Felix and Ingrid to keep him pinned, even as they themselves nap away. Traveling always took a lot out of the three. "I think Felix's elbows are trying to replace my stomach."

"Give them a _bit_ of a break? We arrived with the place in a panic because of how long you'd been gone." Glenn leans over to briefly bump his shoulder against his, and he sighs, but nods and smiles. He knows this is just one of the many ways his best friends show their affection for him, and after today, he really does need it. Besides, his best friends are the only people in the world that he _knows_ love him, and not just his crest. "Oh, hey, I found it."

"You did?" He strains his neck to try and read the page, but can't quite manage it. "Read it aloud. I'm very pinned. I think we're sleeping in the library tonight."

"We can lie and say we were studying to get out of lessons tomorrow." As if. Glenn would _never_ do that. "But it says here that 'red wolf azolla' is an old name for 'aplevard'." Oh, he knows that one. The healers always give it to people suffering from hypothermia. Which… makes sense, actually. "And by 'old', I mean 'really old'. Like last century, old."

"Why did the name change?"

"According to this, it's because 'aplevard' is what the Alliance calls it and there was a lot of confusion during a really bad blizzard that cost over a hundred people their lives, so the healers of all three nations gathered to pool their knowledge and agree on a universal name for herbs to lessen the chances of that happening again. That one happened to get the Alliance name." Glenn tapped the page, frowning. "Now I _really_ think they were fairies. Fairies that hadn't walked among mortals in a while."

"Huh." He thinks they'd been too real to be fairies, but then again, there are many stories of fairies helping the lost and weary. "Well, I suppose weird things _do_ happen to me."

"Like flirting with Ingrid's granny?"

"Hey, she's gorgeous! ...And I might've forgot who she was."

Glenn continues to tease him, and he teases right on back, letting himself relax from everything. He knows from experience that it'll be a few days before he truly processes all of this, like when Miklan had 'accidentally' shoved him down a well, so he might as well keep spirits up. But he makes sure to at least hold onto that memory of warmth. As a reminder that even when things are cold and bleak, it's okay to hope...

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Sylvain's A support with Byleth mentions that Miklan once shoved Sylvain down a well and left him on a mountainside in the middle of winter. While trying to imagine how Sylvain would've gotten out of those predicaments, this was born. So… uh… here? If you're wondering about ages, Sylvain is eight (as his supports with Ingrid reveal he flirted with her granny at that age), meaning the twins are about the same age. Sylvain knowing something about magic is because he has a hidden talent in Reason (and is shown in Annette's support to actually be really good at it despite not working on it).
> 
> 'Red wolf azolla' and 'aplevard' are completely fictional plants. Ginger and cayenne are supposed to be very good for circulation, hence why they're in the 'concoction' as well? xD


	10. Affection

Affection

* * *

"Your garlands get more intricate with every year," he notes, studying the crown of white roses in his hands. Byleth stares up at him, as stoic and expressionless as ever. But she fiddles with the loose string on her sleeve, a nervous habit she has. "I'm not upset by that, of course. But you know that I'd be happy with a simple one as well, right?"

"Perhaps," she replies. Her tone is even, but she doesn't look him in the eye. "But I… I want to. Intricate ones take more time."

"That they do." He sets the crown on his head and waits. If she's ready to tell, she will. He's long learned this about both of his twins, and he's also learned that being patient makes them more likely to open up.

"I heard… I overheard from the villagers that the custom of garlands shows appreciation for loved ones." She stumbles a bit over the word 'appreciation', but that's not unexpected. She's only seven, after all. "The more intricate it is, the more appreciation is shown. Because you have to spend a lot of time and effort on it."

"That is also true." He had never really paid attention in the past, until Fiona started giving him garlands. Alois had brightly told him what the intricate weavings had meant, long before Fiona had actually confessed. But that was the past, and he couldn't be trapped in memories. In the present, he's listening to his little girl slowly explain herself. She is far more important.

"So, I… I want you to know how much I love you, Papa." She brings her hands up, curling her fingers into her collar. He reaches out to take her hands, worried. Last time she had done something like that, she had actually tried to dig into her neck and chest to yank her slow-beating heart and 'try to make it normal'. Gave him a heart attack, that. "I know I'm weird. I know there's a lot wrong with me." He bites back the instinctual response of 'of course there isn't!' because he knows that she won't believe him. He wishes she could, but the words of strangers are too loud and frequent. "And I don't know if my words show it enough. So, I hope the garlands… help with that. A little bit."

"Byleth…" He picks her up with ease and cradles her against him. She immediately tucks her head under his chin, to listen to his heart beating. "My silly little girl… I know you love me."

"Really?" She sounds so small. It hurts that he cannot just simply put a bandage on this wound.

"Really, really." He knows from his long life that injuries of the heart and spirit linger deep, and healing can only truly come from within. All he can do is support her as best as he is able. Be there when she stumbles, and help her find her way again when she gets lost in the dark. "I have known you all of your life. I know how your eyes scrunch up like a kitten's when you're happy. How your hands shake when you're in pain. How the only time you ever truly run is to greet me when I get back from a job." He kisses her hair and holds her close. "So, I know from how you act that you love me."

"...You promise?"

"I promise. It's the second-truest thing I know."

"Second?" She pushes herself up to look at him with the tiniest frown. "What's the truest?"

"That your mom and I love you and Azrael more than anything and everything." And how he wishes Fiona was here. He's sure she'd do so much better helping Byleth. But life didn't work out that way, so he has to simply do his best. It's what his twins deserve. "Speaking of Azrael, though, he's been much too quiet."

"He's sulking because I haven't finished his crown yet." She says it so matter-of-factly that he has to laugh. "...Is it okay if I still give you the garlands?"

"Of course." He smiles at her, and she smiles back, just a little. More importantly, though, her eyes are slightly narrow. For her, it's the equivalent of 'beaming'. "And you can make them however you like. If you want it to be another way you show your affection, that's fine. But it's not the only, and never will be."

"Okay." She tucks herself against his chest again for a moment before frowning slightly and wriggling out of his arms. "I sense mischief from Azrael."

"Oh no." That never meant good things. Azrael could be too clever sometimes, and takes great delight in using lessons for unconventional things. Like pranks. "Let's see if we can head him off."

"He's this way." She takes his hand and tugs him to the door. "We better hurry."

They thankfully manage to stop Azrael before he finishes his prank. Barely. He's glad they did, though, because explaining to the innkeeper just how the extra candles moved from the storage closet and into people's pillows isn't exactly something he'd planned on. Trying to figure out where Azrael hid the feathers is hard enough.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Just a little oneshot born from something Byleth thinks about during a scene in Chapter 5 of Testament of Dawn


End file.
